


Bibbidi Bobbidi Bitch

by ProbablyVoldemort



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Godparents, Fluff, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-18 04:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18242252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProbablyVoldemort/pseuds/ProbablyVoldemort
Summary: “And if my mom misses a payment you, what?  Disappear and leave me without protection?”“No, in that case I get your firstborn child.”  Murphy's face was blank, no sign of any emotion, and Clarke just stared at him until he rolled his eyes.  “I’m joking.  Your mom’s credit card gets automatically charged every month.”or: for reasons unknown Abby decides to hire Clarke a fairygodmotherbodyguardWinner of Most Creative and Best Use Of Teaching Moment trope in Chopped: The 100 Fanfic Challenge Fluff Round!





	Bibbidi Bobbidi Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for the first round of The 100: Chopped challenge, which means I needed to include the prompts: mythical creature, coffee shop, teaching via touch (re Clarke and Bellamy and the gun in season 1), and kissing in the rain.
> 
> So I got these prompts and I was sitting her thinking like "what is the funniest mythical creature I could make one of these losers into?" and then, like a light shining through the darkness, came three words: Fairy Godmother Murphy. And thus this baby was born.
> 
> Originally my idea was for canon verse, but I couldn't figure out how to fit in the coffee shop au prompt into canon and like specifically in season one which is where I'd planned to base it. Rewrote a bunch of the plot and circumstances and stuff for a modern au, so if you would be interested in another Fairy Godmother Murphy fic but set at the Dropship with a different plot, please let me know in the comments because I would be down to write it.
> 
> Edit: Thank you guys so much for voting for me!!! I'm honestly freaking out right now!!  
> Bibbidi Bobbidi Bitch won:  
> 1st in Most Creative  
> 1st in Teaching Moment prompt  
> 2nd in Combined Use of Prompts and Theme  
> 2nd in Mythical Creature prompt  
> 2nd in use of Fluff theme  
> 3rd in Kissing in the Rain prompt
> 
> Thank you again!!!! :D <3 <3 <3
> 
> And now without further ado, please enjoy.

Clarke flailed blindly at her alarm, trying to find her alarm in the dark.  She wasn’t quite sure she actually managed to hit it, but the blaring turned off.  She pressed her face into her pillow for a few more seconds before sitting up and turning on the light.  She rubbed her eyes and blinked at the man sitting in the chair near her door, twirling a large knife between his fingers.

He raised a hand in greeting when he noticed she was up, and she screamed, backing herself into the corner. 

“Woah,” he said, slipping the knife into some invisible pocket and standing up, hands raised.  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 _Yeah fucking right_.  Clarke held herself back from voicing her objection—like that would do anything to help at all—and just stared at him instead, trying to figure out a way to make it to her door or the window without getting caught by him.

“The agency sent me,” he continued, like that should mean something to her.  He wasn’t moving, wasn’t doing anything but stand there next to the door with his hands raised.

“The agency?” she repeated.  What agency?  “Like the CIA?”

The man smirked at that, and Clarke wondered if she could grab her lamp fast enough to be able to do anything with it before he caught her.

“No,” he said, and Clarke had figured CIA was a long shot anyway.  “I’m from the FPA.”  Something in her face must’ve indicated that she had no idea what that acronym stood for because he sighed, like this was more effort than he’d bargained for—which, honestly, it wasn’t like she’d _asked_ him to make up some weird story for why he was in her room with a really big knife watching her sleep, or, really, for him to watch her sleep in the first place—and expanded.  “The Fairy Protection Agency?”

That was…decidedly not something she’d expected to hear, if she was being honest.  It was shocking enough that she stopped inching closer to her lamp and stared at him.

“The Fairy Protection Agency?” she repeated.  “What the fuck does that mean?”

The man rolled his eyes.  “It means I’m a _fairy_ and I was sent here to _protect_ you by the _agency_ ,” he told her, speaking slowly like she was a child.

It really didn’t clear anything up.

“I don’t need protecting,” she told him, standing up from the bed.  “And you don’t look like a fairy.”

He rolled his eyes again, but rolled his shoulders at the same time.  A pair of what were undeniably fairy wings—big pink sparkly things—sprouted from his back, and Clarke felt her mouth drop open.

“Better?” he asked, smirking at her.

Clarke snapped her mouth shut, and shook her head.

“Nope,” she said, turning away from him and gathering her work clothes from the floor—probably not the best decision considering he still had that big knife somewhere, but no one said she was thinking straight.  “This is not happening.”

He was trying to talk to her, the wings gone again, but she tuned him out, pushing past him into the rest of her apartment.  There wasn’t a fairy here.  That was ridiculous.  Fairies were only real in fiction.  This wasn’t happening.  It was just a normal morning and she was going to treat it as such and go to work.

Unfortunately, ignoring the problem didn’t seem to do anything except eventually get him to stop trying to talk to her, and the problem followed her to work, even appearing in her car after she’d deliberately locked the doors to keep him out.

She continued to ignore him as she walked into Dropship, smiling at Harper as she rounded the counter to put her stuff away.  The problem didn’t follower her into the back, which she was thankful for, but he was seated in a booth when she remerged, staring at the door like it had personally affronted him.

But she was ignoring him, so she settled in at a register and started taking people’s coffee orders.

“Who do you think he is?” Harper asked during a lull.  She nodded towards the problem, who hadn’t moved from his seat, and Clarke shrugged.

“I dunno,” she said, and then was saved from further questions by a large rush of teenagers entering the shop.

As she went about mindlessly making lattes, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Harper could see him too.  On the one hand, it was good that he wasn’t a hallucination because that would be a sign that something was probably wrong.  On the other hand, Harper seeing him meant that he was real and that he probably wasn’t going to go away no matter how hard she ignored him.

Which is why she found herself sliding into his booth at the start of her break.

“So,” she said, after his gaze had flicked from the door to her.  She could feel Harper watching her from the counter and knew she had to figure out something to tell her after her break was over.  “What are you?”

He raised an eyebrow.  “I already told you,” he pointed out.  “I’m from the FPA.”

“Right,” Clarke sighed, running a hand through her hair.  “The Fairy Protection Agency.  But why are you here?”

“To protect you.”  At Clarke’s pointed look, he sighed.  “I’m here because someone opened a contract for your protection, and I was assigned to your case.”

Right.  Because people just casually hire fairies for protection in real life.  Because that made a lot of sense.

“So you’re my fairy godmother?” she clarified, smirking at his scowl.

“Do I look like a fairy godmother?” he snapped, and Clarke shrugged.  “Whatever.”

Clarke sighed and leaned back in her seat.  “So who hired you?” she asked.  “And why?  I don’t think I need a magic bodyguard.  I don’t think I even need a regular bodyguard.”

The fairy flicked his wrist and a stack of paper appeared in his hand, which he slid across the table to her.  “Someone named Abigail Griffin hired me,” he told her, and Clarke should’ve guessed that.  Of course it was her mom.  “Did she not tell you?”

Clarke stared at him.  “Did it look like my mom told me some random dude was going to show up in my bedroom with a knife while I was sleeping?”

The fairy—shit she was going to have to learn his name, wasn’t she?—didn’t even crack a smile.  “No.”

“So why are you here?” she asked again.  “What do I need protecting from?”

The fairy shrugged again.  “Your mom never said,” he told her.  Of course she hadn’t.  “It’s not required in the contract.”

Clarke sighed and pulled out her phone.  Her mom was on a plane right now if she remembered correctly, so she sent a text for her to call when she could.  She needed answers.

“So,” she said, dropping the phone on the table.  “How does this work?”

The fairy straightened up, and started pointing to things in the contract as he talked.  “Your mom hired me to protect you.  Or, rather, she hired the agency to protect you, and they assigned your case to me.  That means I am to be within close contact with you for the duration of the contract, and am to protect you from anything and everything that could harm you.”

Clarke nodded.  Seemed like a fairly straight forward bodyguard contract—not that she really had any experience in the area to base that off of.

“How long does the contract last?”

The fairy waved his hand and the contract disappeared, leaving Clarke staring at the now empty table like she could see where it went.

“It lasts until the person who opened the contract ends it,” he said, folding his hands on top of the table.  “Or until your death, which, if I have any say in the matter, and I do, will be after a long and happy life.”

Clarke stared at him.  “You’re with me until I die?” she repeated, and the fairy simply nodded.  “Shit, that must be expensive.”  He shrugged.  “And if my mom misses a payment you, what?  Disappear and leave me without protection?”

“No, in that case I get your firstborn child.”  His face was blank, no sign of any emotion, and Clarke just stared at him until he rolled his eyes.  “I’m joking.  Your mom’s credit card gets automatically charged every month.”

Of course it was.

This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to Clarke.  She was sitting her discussing the magic contract her mom had made with a magic bodyguard agency to have a fairy protect her for unknown reasons, and the fairies had her mom’s credit card information.

Of course.

“Right,” Clarke said, checking the time on her phone.  “My break’s over.”  The fairy waved his fingers on one hand as she stood, and she realized she still didn’t know his name.  “Clarke.”

He stared at her offered hand in what looked like confusion.  “I know?”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  “You’re supposed to tell me _your_ name,” she told him, and he glanced up at her.

“Oh,” he said.  “Murphy.”

She picked up his hand off the table and shook it.  “Nice to meet you, Murphy,” she said.  “Order a coffee or something instead of just sitting here like a creep.”

He didn’t say anything, and she retreated back behind the counter.

“I thought you said you didn’t know him,” Harper asked, almost immediately after she returned.

Clarke shrugged.  “I lied,” she sighed.  “He’s, um, my new roommate?  He thinks he’s too cool to not have anything better to do than just sit here while I work.”

Harper snorted.  “Sounds like a dick,” she said, and Clarke had to laugh.

“Yeah,” she agreed, thinking about how he’d led her to believe he’d be taking her firstborn.  “He kinda is.”

 

And that was how Clarke wound up with a fairy following her around to protect her from, well, nothing.  She texted Raven to come over after work, and she and Murphy stopped for takeout on the way.

“What do you want?” she asked Murphy as they stood in line.

“I don’t need to eat,” he told her, and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m buying dinner for me and Raven anyway,” she pointed out.  “I’m not just going to not get you dinner, too.”

Murphy shook his head.  “I physically don’t need to eat for another decade or so,” he said.

Clarke nodded.  “Oh.”  Of course he didn’t.  Why would he need to eat?  That would be crazy.

Murphy watched as a kid walked away from the counter.  “Why is she the only one who gets to have a red box?”

Clarke opened his mouth to reply, but they’d reached the front of the line.  She rattled off her and Raven’s orders, then glanced over at Murphy.  “And a chicken nugget Happy Meal,” she added.

 

Murphy stepped between Clarke and the apartment door, the large knife from that morning appearing in his hand.

“Someone’s inside,” he told her, and Clarke had a moment of panic before she remembered Raven’s text.

“It’s my friend,” she said, pushing past him to get at the door.  “Put away your knife before you scare her.”

It was, despite Murphy’s grumblings, Raven who greeted them inside, eyeing Clarke’s company in suspicion.

“Raven, Murphy.  Murphy, Raven.”  Clarke dropped the bags of food on the table, and Murphy followed suit with the drink tray and his Happy Meal.

“Okay,” Raven said slowly, still eyeing Murphy.  “And who is he?”

Clarke shrugged.  “Officially, my new roommate.”

Raven eyed them both suspiciously.  “And unofficially?”

Clarke shrugged again.  “Show her your thing,” she told Murphy, and then immediately cringed at how that sounded.

“You could at least buy me a drink first,” Murphy countered, a smirk on his face again.

Clarke rolled her eyes.  “I bought you dinner,” she pointed out.  “And you know that’s not what I meant.”

Murphy pulled out his knife from whatever magical location he stored it in, which was, for the record, also not what Clarke had meant.

“What the fuck?” Raven yelped, jumping back.

“Not that.”  Clarke sighed, and Murphy’s knife disappeared as he glanced at her in confusion.  “Your wings, idiot.”

“Oh.”  He rolled his shoulders, and his wings reappeared.  Clarke hadn’t really taken it in that morning, but the clash of his sparkly pink wings with his leather jacket and scars was a good look if you were into that kind of thing.  Which Clarke wasn’t.  Probably.

“What the fuck?” Raven repeated, and Clarke turned back to her.

“Apparently my mom’s decided I need a fairy bodyguard,” she said, taking a seat at the table.  “I have no idea why, and she’s not calling me back.”

Raven eyed Murphy as they joined Clarke at the table.  “That makes no sense.”

Clarke shrugged, already exhausted by this whole fairy business.  “I never said it did.”

They dug into their meals, and Raven kept eyeing Murphy as he looked over the components of his Happy Meal.

“So do all fairies like Happy Meals or is that just you?” she asked, and Clarke rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know if I even like Happy Meals,” he pointed out, and then made a face as he pulled out the toy.  “Really, Clarke?”

She took it from him, peeling off the wrapper.  It was Tinkerbell with light up wings, which probably meant there was some new Tinkerbell movie coming out soon.

“I think it looks just like you,” she said, grinning as she handed it back.  Murphy rolled his eyes, and Raven laughed.

“Why are you so chill with this?” she asked, and Clarke shrugged.

“I already freaked out this morning,” she admitted.  “I’m just going with it now.”

“What is this?”

They turned to Murphy, who was holding a piece of his dinner in his hand, eyeing it like it held the secrets of the universe.

“A chicken nugget?” Raven said.  “Do they not have chicken nuggets in fairy land?”

Murphy shook his head, shoving the rest of the chicken nuggets into his mouth.  “It’s the fairy realm,” he corrected through his mouthful.  “Do we have more of these?”

Clarke laughed, pushing herself up from the table.  “I think I have some more in the freezer,” she said.  “But I thought you weren’t gonna be hungry for another decade.”

“I won’t be,” Murphy agreed, starting on his fries.  “Don’t tell me you never eat when you’re not hungry.”

Clarke didn’t argue and she did, in fact, have a box of nuggets in the freezer.  By the time she’d returned from putting them in the oven, Murphy was recapping the specifics of the contract for Raven.

“Till death do you part, huh?” Raven said, grinning at Clarke over her burger as she sat back down.  “That sounds more like a marriage than a bodyguard contract.”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  “It’s not a marriage.”  She paused for a second before turning to Murphy.  “It’s _not_ a marriage, right?”

Murphy laughed.  “Trust me,” he said, shaking his head.  “If a fairy is proposing to you, you’ll know.”

Clarke shared a look with Raven, and they mutually agreed to save that line of discussion for later.

“So when my mom ends the contract, what happens?” Clarke asked, starting in on her own dinner.  “Do you just go back to your fairy world?”

“Fairy realm,” Murphy corrected.  “But yes.  I’ll get reassigned to another case.”

“Do you always have to leave?” Raven asked.  “Or can you just, like, stay here?”

“Well, I’ll have paperwork,” Murphy pointed out.  “So I have to go back to do that.  But yeah.  Fairies live here.  I could get the paperwork and move here if I wanted.”

Raven nodded, the grin spreading across her face.  “But what if you and Clarke hooked up?”

Clarke sighed and rolled her eyes.  “Raven.”

Raven turned her grin back on Clarke.  “Hypothetically,” she amended.

“It’d be a conflict of interest,” Murphy supplied.  “If a fairy and their client become romantically involved, the fairy has to report it and a new agent will be assigned to the case.”

Raven nodded.  “And what would happen to you?”

“I’d be assigned a new case.”

“No punishment or anything?” Raven pressed.

Murphy shrugged.  “That would depend on how long I’d waited before reporting it.”

Clarke opened her mouth to change the subject to literally anything else—really.  Murphy had only been here a day.  She didn’t want him to decide Raven was a threat and prevent her from seeing her friend or whatever—but Raven beat her to the punch.

“Is magic sex better or worse than regular sex?”

“Raven!” Clarke squawked, throwing a fry at her friend’s head.

 

“So this is your room.”

Raven had finally left after another three thousand questions or so, and Clarke was ready to sleep and wake up in a world where she didn’t have a fairy bodyguard.

She’d been looking for a new roommate anyway, so there was an extra room.  If he ended up staying more than a few days, she’d get him to start paying a portion of rent.  Or, if he didn’t have money—she had no idea how fairy money worked or really anything else fairy-wise—she’d get her mom to pay his portion of rent, since all of this was on her anyway.

Murphy lingered in the doorway as Clarke tossed some clean sheets onto the bare mattress.

“I get a room?”

Clarke paused, glancing back at him.  “Do you not usually get one?”  Murphy shrugged but didn’t elaborate, and Clarke sighed.  “Well, you get one here.  We are going with you being my new roommate, right?”

Murphy stared at her for a long moment.  “Right,” he agreed.  “That’s not technically a lie.”

Clarke laughed, backing up to lean against a wall.  “Would that matter?”

Murphy shrugged, waving a hand and making the sheets spread out on the bed.  “Fairies can’t lie.”

“Bullshit.”

His eyes snapped over to her.  “What?”

“I said bullshit,” Clarke repeated.  “You lied to me about stealing my firstborn this morning.”

“That was a joke,” Murphy said, a smirk spreading across his face.  “We can joke, Clarke.”

“Fine.”  Clarke rolled her eyes, pushing off the wall and heading out of the room.  “Make yourself at home.”

 

Her mom called her in the morning, waking her up before her alarm.  She didn’t really have a good reason to hire Clarke a magical bodyguard, just that she felt Clarke shouldn’t be alone.  Which Clarke didn’t even bother to start pointing out all the reasons that was ridiculous—she had friends, okay?  She wasn’t alone.  And how exactly was hiring a fairy bodyguard the best way to fix that even if she was along?

Abby did agree to sever the contract, but all the papers and numbers and everything she’d need to do that had been left at home and she wouldn’t be back for another three months.

So it looked like she was stuck with Murphy for now.

It honestly wasn’t that bad.  Murphy was either really good at cooking or added some magic to it that made it taste even better than anything Clarke could’ve made.  He got along with her friends, and apparently had been between cases since the forties and was thus down to watch anything she wanted on Netflix since he hadn’t seen enough TV to really have opinions yet—but did he ever have opinions once he started watching.

There was bad, though.  He left a trail of glitter—“It’s not glitter, Clarke.  It’s fairy dust.”—with literally everything she did, and it was so much of a pain to vacuum that Clarke had resigned herself to just be constantly covered in glitter.  It was her look now.  She was pretty sure she looked like Edward fucking Cullen anytime she stood in direct sunlight. 

And, like Harper has so accurately predicted on day one, he was kind of a dick.

But Clarke was also kind of a dick, so it worked.

He started at the coffee shop with Clarke a week after he’d arrived, since he had to spend her shifts there anyway, and he seemed to make up for the fact that he was absolute shit at making coffee by adding some magic or something.  Clarke didn’t ask.

All in all, things were pretty good, and Clarke had a feeling she was going to miss him just a little when her mom finally severed the contract.

 

“No.  You’re not coming.”

Murphy rolled his eyes, turning around so he could lean over the back of the couch and watch her.

“Clarke,” he said, drawing out her name in that annoying way he had.  “I am legally obligated to go everywhere with you.”

Clarke shook her head, refusing to look at him in the mirror as she rearranged her curls.  “You’re not coming on my date,” she said again.  “That’s really weird.”

Murphy rolled his eyes.  “I’ll be invisible,” he offered.  “But there’s honestly no way for me to not come on your date with you.”

Clarke turned to look at him.  “Since when can you turn invisible?”

“Since always.”  Murphy turned back around, focusing back on whatever he was watching on her Netflix.  “You just haven’t noticed cause I can’t be invisible to you.”

Clarke made a face at the back of his head before turning back to her reflection.  “Why not?”

“You’re my client,” he said, like that explained everything.  Clarke supposed it did.

She finished with her hair and crossed the room to plant herself between him and the TV, her hands on her hips.

“You’ll be invisible the entire time,” she said, and he nodded.  “And you won’t be a dick.”

Murphy snorted.  “You’re dreaming if you think I can promise that.”  She stared at him until he sighed.  “Fine.  I will be the minimum amount of dick that I can be.”

Clarke nodded.  “Good.”

 

Her date was late because of course he was.

“We could just go home,” Murphy pointed out, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the table and eating what was probably his sixth breadstick from the table.  “I could make something better than anything you could get here.  They don’t even have chicken strips on the menu.”

Clarke glanced at the clock on her phone.  “He’s only a little late,” she pointed out.  “Let’s give it ten more minutes, and then you go back to the door and turn visible and we pretend I was waiting for you.”

“Deal.”

Her date arrived less than ten minutes later, and Murphy made his displeasure known.

“His excuse is shit,” he said.  “No one gets stuck in traffic.”

Clarke wished she could point out that normally people did get stuck in traffic when they didn’t have a fairy “protecting” them from traffic jams, which was about the extent of protecting that Murphy had had to do so far.  But she couldn’t, not without having to then explain to her date that someone else had tagged along on their date.

She’d been texting him since before Murphy had arrived, but this was their first actual date.  She wasn’t going to ruin it by exposing Murphy and thus letting him interject all his opinions.

Murphy didn’t like him.  Clarke figured it was probably just on principle—if Clarke went on dates, it meant Murphy had to go on dates and couldn’t just sit on the couch with Netflix and chicken nuggets—but it was a suspicion he would neither confirm not deny.  Either way, she planned on ignoring him until he had an actual valid concern, which he didn’t.

It wasn’t until a bit later during a lull in conversation when the food arrived that Murphy stopped sulking over the fact that he wasn’t getting any food—no mention of how he was still managing to steal the breadsticks without her date noticing—and voiced an actual opinion on him.

“He’s dangerous.”

Clarke snapped her eyes in her direction, but Murphy wasn’t looking at her.  He was leaning close to her date, close enough that it would’ve been no doubt uncomfortable if he had actually been able to see him, his nose practically touching his’s cheek.

“Like he’s not _drag you into the forest and murder you_ level dangerous,” Murphy amended, and Clarke let her heartrate slow to a more reasonable pace.  “But it’s more than _you’re not gonna get off if you fuck him_.”  He slipped back into his own seat, and Clarke wasn’t sure how her date hadn’t noticed all the glitter settling onto him.  The knife appeared in Murphy’s hand, and he twirled it between his fingers as Clarke fought the urge to demand he put it away.

She caught his eye and deliberately rolled her eyes instead before returning to her meal and starting up another conversation.

Murphy had explained to her once how he could tell how much danger a situation would put Clarke in, and she’d pretended to understand.  It really hadn’t made all that much sense, but it’d saved her from getting stuck in traffic or forgetting her keys or burning her dinner, so she wasn’t complaining.  With those being the main concerns so far, though, it had become clear even to Murphy that she didn’t really need a fairy bodyguard.

The fact that her date’s danger level was high enough for Murphy to point it out was concerning, but she was pretty sure Murphy would’ve just dragged her out of the restaurant—or, probably more likely, just magically transported them back to the apartment—if she’d been in actual danger.  And she liked him.  Was this the most exciting date in the world?  No, but it was good for a first date.

She’d ask Murphy to expand on whatever possible danger he’d sensed later.

Of course, she should’ve known she wouldn’t have to ask.

“He’s a real dickwad,” Murphy said as he appeared in the passenger seat of her car.  (Doors were a waste of time, apparently.)

“You can’t know that,” Clarke pointed out, rolling her eyes.  “And you’re wrong.  What part of tonight even made you think that?”

Murphy ignored her question, raising an eyebrow.  “We both know that since I was able to say it, it has to be true,” he said, which, no.  Murphy had opinions, and he was able to voice them—and did, regularly—but just because he could voice his opinions didn’t always mean he was right.  Clarke figured it was along the lines of him being able to joke, but she didn’t pretend she understood anything about Murphy.

“I don’t think you should see him again.”

Clarke rolled her eyes as she pulled out of the parking spot.

“That’s not your decision,” she said.  “I like him.  Unless you find out that his danger rating is something really bad or you have an actual reason to not like him other than just missing out on Netflix, I’m going to see him again.”

 

And she did.  Three more times, in fact, the latest of which had resulted in her going back to his place while Murphy waited in the living room.

She was naked in his bed, him above her, when a bunch of glitter fell on her face and made her sneeze.

“Clarke, we have to go,” Murphy said, and she glanced away from her maybe-sort-of-boyfriend to find him standing beside the bed with his hand over his eyes.

“What?” she snapped, when really she wanted to scream at him.  Her date mumbled in confusion against the skin of her neck.

“We need to go now,” Murphy said again.  “His fiancée’s in the elevator.”

Clarke felt her blood freeze as she pushed him off her.  She ignored his complaints as she gathered her clothes—an easier task when each piece appeared conveniently at her feet when she needed it.  Murphy hurried her along and prevented her date from delaying her too much, but they still took too long.

There was a woman standing outside the door when Clarke opened it, keys in her hand as she was about to open it herself.

“I’ve been on three dates with him,” Clarke said before she could think.  “But we’ve been talking for over a month.  I swear I just found out about you now.”

And then he was in the hallway, too, somehow managing to get between her and the elevator, asking her to just listen to him, even as his fiancée screamed.

“Can I punch him?” Murphy asked.  His knife was in his hand and he honestly looked kind of terrifying even with his big pink glittery wings.

Clarke nodded and she could see the exact moment that he’d made himself visible, the cheating bastard’s face paling considerably.  And then there was blood streaming from his nose, and Murphy had grabbed her arm and tugged her past him to the elevator.

“Try anything and you find out what this can do,” he growled, waving the knife at him.

And then they were home with Clarke not remembering any of the trip, presumably thanks to Murphy.

She passed on his offer of food in favour of crawling into bed.

Murphy, apparently, could be not a dick when he wanted, since he never even tried to say _I told you so_.

 

She spent the weekend after the fiasco watching romcoms and eating ice cream and chicken nuggets with Murphy and Raven and Harper, and honestly it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.  She refused to let Murphy know he was right, that she should’ve listened to him, but once she was over the shock, she was mostly just ready to move on.

She was at Dropship, chatting with Harper behind the counter as they tried to look busy for the security cameras— _if you have time to lean, you have time to clean_ was a shit policy, as everyone who’d worked in customer service knew, so Clarke was just wiping down the same bit of counter over and over and Harper was arranging sugar packets in some unknown pattern.  Murphy was very slowly sweeping the floor around the tables and the few customers that were actually there at the moment, a task made more difficult by the glitter he had to keep retracing his steps to sweep up.

“I’m just saying, Monty’s cousin is really hot,” Harper said, continuing with the conversation they’d been having during the last lull, when Clarke had declared herself ready to move on.  “I think you’d like her.”

“Wouldn’t that be weird?” Clarke asked, moving to a new bit of counter where she could look out at the shop.  “Like, what if we break up and it’s really messy?  Wouldn’t that make things weird with Monty?”

Harper shrugged.  “I’m not asking you to marry her,” she pointed out.  “Or even date her seriously or anything.  But she’s really nice and if you’re ready to move on, wouldn’t it be better to try with someone that’s been preapproved as someone who definitely doesn’t have a secret fiancée?”

Clarke snorted.  “I guess that’s fair,” she allowed.  “I don’t know though.”

Harper rolled her eyes.  “Murphy,” she called, and he glanced over at them.  “Don’t you think Clarke should let me set her up with Monty’s cousin?”

Murphy’s eyes moved to Clarke and he looked at her for a long minute before smirking at them.  “If that’s what Clarke wants,” he said, which was one of his usual go arounds when the truth wasn’t something he should say.  Clarke assumed he didn’t want Harper to set her up with Monty’s cousin because that meant he’d have to go on more dates.

Harper rolled her eyes, and moved to help the family that had just come in.  Clarke started making the requested drinks, wondering whether Harper was right.  Maybe she should go out with Monty’s cousin.  She was already Harper and Monty approved and didn’t have a fiancée.  Was there anything else she should be wanting in a blind date?

There was a peal of high laughter, and Clarke looked away from the smoothie machine and out over the shop.  Murphy was crouched down in front of the three small children that had come in with the lady ordering from Harper.  Glittery fairy dust was raining down over them, and they were squealing and spinning in circles as they tried to catch it.  Murphy was grinning at them, his fingers twitching by his side as he made more glitter fall, and he looked softer than Clarke had ever seen him.

Murphy wasn’t a soft person—fairy—from what Clarke had gathered in the month or so he’d been around.  He cared, sure, not just about her, but about her friends too.  But he was a dick.  That was just his personality.  He’d admitted it many times, which, if Clarke pretended she had any idea how his _must not tell lies_ thing worked, meant it was a fundamental truth of his personality.

But right now, with these kids, he looked…not like a different Murphy, because that Murphy was still there, but like this was another layer of him she hadn’t seen before.

That wasn’t quite true though, was it?  She’d seen glimpses of this Murphy just the other night, behind his fury at her date.  She’d seen it in him when he’d used his magic to make her couch comfier when she’d caught the flu a few weeks back and had barely moved for days, when he’d brought her soup, when he’d stroked her hair until she was asleep and it was so full of glitter it’d taken her the better part of a week to get most of it out.

The lady and her kids left and Murphy resumed his sweeping, and Clarke still found herself watching him.

Harper bumped their hips together, and Clarke jumped.

“I knew there was a reason you didn’t want to be set up with Monty’s cousin,” she said, and Clarke frowned in confusion, though her gaze was already drifting back to Murphy.

“What?”

Harper leveled her with a look, her eyes darting between Clarke and Murphy.

“You should ask him out,” she said over Clarke’s spluttered attempts at a defence.  “I’m pretty sure he likes you, too.”

“No,” Clarke declared, tearing her gaze away from Murphy and turning to continue wiping down the counter.  “That’s not a thing.  I don’t like him.”

Harper snorted.  “Sure,” she agreed, but it sounded suspiciously like one of Murphy’s half-truths.

 

Of course, it did become a thing.  Clarke really should’ve known.  Murphy was the one who couldn’t lie, but Clarke couldn’t remember Harper ever being wrong about anyone.

So it was a thing.

She’d see Murphy on her couch in the morning, shirtless and glittery and with his hair messed up from sleep, and she’d have to stop herself before she ran her hands through it.

He’d be talking about something, and she’d catch herself staring at his mouth, his words floating over her head as she wondered what his lips would feel like, whether they’d leave glitter on her own after they pulled away.

He’d be standing close and she’d have to fight the urge to lean into him, to wrap herself up in everything that was him.

So it was a thing.

But it wasn’t allowed to be anymore of a thing.

Because this couldn’t happen.  Nothing could happen between them.  The moment something did happen, it’d be reported and he’d be gone.

So she tried to stop wondering, to stop looking, to stop feeling.  It wasn’t going great, but she didn’t think Murphy had caught on yet and that was about the best she could hope for.

 

“Nuggets?” Murphy asked, flopping down on the couch beside her and waving a plate of dinosaur nuggets under her nose.  (They were the best type, apparently.  Murphy had done extensive research.)

Clarke grabbed a nugget and dipped it in the ketchup before refocusing on her cards.  “I think it’s Mrs. White in the ballroom with the ax.”

“There’s no ax,” Bellamy pointed out.

“Fuck.”  Clarke glanced down at her cards again.  “Um.  Rope, then.  Mrs. White.  Ballroom.  Rope.”

She got three cards shown to her because Clarke was shit at Clue.

Murphy, however, was not.

“Professor Plum with the candlestick in the kitchen.”

There was a collective round of swearing as no one showed Murphy a card, and he smirked over his chicken nuggets as everyone took their shots for losing.

“This is unfair,” Miller complained.  “How do you always win?”

“I’m just that good,” Murphy said, smirking.  “And it’s physically impossible for me to lie.”

“That’s considered cheating in the human world,” Raven said, raising an eyebrow as she thrust a shot into his hand.  “Cheaters have to do double shots.”

Murphy just shrugged and took the shots, a torrent of glitter flying onto Clarke as he threw his head back.

“None of that makes any sense,” Harper pointed out. 

No one offered any explanation.  Murphy because he couldn’t, not without lying which he was incapable of doing.  Clarke and Raven because when Murphy got drunk, he did magic without thinking so really at this point it was on everyone else if they hadn’t figured it out yet.  The three of them had decided to turn it into a game to see how long it took them to realize something was up.  Clarke had had too much faith in her friends and they’d passed by her date over a week ago.  Raven had no faith in their friends, and had bet that Murphy would be gone before they left.  They hadn’t let Murphy make a bet for obvious reasons, but thought the whole thing was hilarious.

Shots finished, Murphy flicked a hand and the Clue board was put away.  The only one who seemed to notice was Jasper, but he was very stoned and thus did not comment.

“We need to play something Murphy can’t cheat at,” Raven declared, and it took a little deliberation before Mario Kart was decided on.

Clarke caught Murphy frowning at the controller that was thrust into his hands, and she debated just letting him lose terribly before figuring the least she could do was help him. 

“Here,” she said, motioning for him to lift his arm.  He complied and she slipped into his lap.  “Is this okay?”  She felt him nod against her shoulder, and positioned her hands over his.

“What are you doing?” Monty asked.

“Murphy’s never played before,” Clarke pointed out.  “I’m helping.”

Disagreements were voiced, but Miller waved them off.

“Clarke’s shit at Mario Kart, too,” he reminded them.  “Maybe this way they might actually have a chance.”

Clarke wasn’t quite sure why she’d decided that this would be easier than just telling him which controls did what.  Maybe it was because she was drunk and drunk Clarke cared a lot less about the whole conflict of interest thing and a lot more about how nice it would be to sit in Murphy’s lap.  Maybe she was just tired of pretending—it’d been a whole, like, four days since she figured out she was kind of into really into him and that was a lot—and didn’t care about how much glitter would get in her hair from doing this.

 “Okay,” she said, and he leaned in closer so he could peer over her shoulder at the controller.  “We’re gonna be Princess Peach cause I’m always Princess Peach cause she’s the best.”

“Okay,” Murphy agreed, and Clarke selected their character.

She opened her mouth to explain the controls, but then Bellamy had already selected Rainbow Road.

“Not fair,” she said, mashing her finger on Murphy’s thumb to get their bike going.

They sucked, as was to be expected.  Clarke was putting it all down to the fact that she was shit at Mario Kart and Murphy had never played before and Bellamy had picked fucking Rainbow Road.  That was definitely the only reason.

It wasn’t because of how nice it felt to be pressed up so close to him, or the way his face was tucked into her neck so that his breath washed against her skin with every taunt he threw at the others, or how nice his hands felt under hers.

It was definitely just because they were shitty Mario Kart players.

They came in twelfth.  Monty was the next lowest at eighth, which meant they each had to do four shots.

Clarke’s head was feeling fuzzy as she settled back against Murphy, her hands under his now for their second race.

“You up for some cheating?” he whispered, right against her ear, and Clarke nodded like she could actually process his words.

This round went better.  They got a blue shell every time they hit a sparkly box.  Harper’s drink upended over Monty.  The batteries died in Bellamy’s controller.  Miller just straight up fell off the back of the couch.

They ended up in fourth, but beat everyone in the living room.

Clarke cheered and pulled Murphy up to do a victory dance, which he complained about furiously the entire time they Macarena-ed to the beat of the Mario Kart music.

“I call cheat,” Raven said, a knowing look on her face as they sat back down.  Neither Clarke nor Murphy bothered to argue, and Murphy made their shot glasses float up into their hands.  No one pointed out that that shouldn’t be possible.

The next game went worse.

Clarke blamed it on being drunk.  It definitely wasn’t because Murphy wasn’t even pretending to help with the controls anymore, his arms wrapping around her waist instead.  (He wasn’t even cheating, either, which would have been an okay excuse for not helping.)  It definitely wasn’t because he was nosing at her neck.  (If she tilted her head to give him better access, that was just because it was a comfier position.)  It wasn’t because he started pressing kisses there, hesitant at first, like he thought she’d object, and then more purposeful, leading from her jaw to her shoulder and back again, over and over.  It wasn’t because she’d found herself leaning more and more into him, less and less of her concentration going into making sure Princess Peach made it around the track.

In the end, they had almost two full laps left to go when the person in eleventh finished, and then she and Murphy were doing more floating shots, glittery fairy dust dripping from the glasses.

Harper took the controller with a knowing look, smugly saving them from having to lose another round, and Clarke snuggled back against Murphy to watch them play.  His face was in her hair, and that was probably bad, but she couldn’t remember why, and it was good, really, so good that whatever reason it was bad probably didn’t even matter.  She played with his fingers, twisting them between her own, and watched the glitter fall off them.

She liked the glitter.  More fell off the drunker he was, and Harper and Monty were definitely going to have a hard time getting it off their couch, but Clarke liked it.  It was pretty and sparkly.  Murphy was pretty and sparkly.

“You’re pretty and sparkly,” she told him, rolling her head back onto his shoulder so she could look at him.  Raven was laughing, and Clarke didn’t know what was so funny.

“I’m not pretty,” Murphy grumbled, looking away from her.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to lie,” she mused, nuzzling into his neck.  She noticed he didn’t deny the sparkly.

He didn’t say anything, or maybe he did but she was too drunk to hear, but he was pressing kisses to her forehead and she figured that was better than talking anyway.

She must’ve drifted off at some point, because then she was awake and Murphy was assuring Harper that they’d get a cab and she was leaning against him and they were stumbling down the stairs.

Next thing she knew, she was in her apartment, and Murphy had magicked her into her pyjamas on her request.  He’d probably magicked them home, too, or maybe she was just really drunk and forgot the whole cab ride.  Either was plausible.

She lay there in bed, half asleep, and she closed her eyes when he pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, and she mumbled something in reply.

He moved away, but she grabbed his wrist.  She was too drunk and too sleepy to really pull him back, but he let her hold him there.

“Sleep here?” she asked, her eyes still closed.

His hand pulled out of her grip, and then the bed shifted as he crawled in.  She curled up against his chest and was out barely a second later.

 

Clarke was fucked.

Sure, things could’ve been worse.  She could have not had a live-in fairy bodyguard who could magic her hangover away.  She could have still not known what it felt like to wake up in his arms.  He could’ve insisted they talk about what happened last night instead of following her lead of not talking about it.  She could be on fire right now.

But no matter how much worse it could’ve been, she was still fucked.

Raven had come over at her request, only after she’d promised Murphy would magic away her hangover, too, and now they were sitting on Clarke’s bed—which was ridiculously full of glitter and still smelled like him—having “girl talk” while Murphy listened to music loudly through headphones in his own room.

“Why does your bed look like you fucked Tinkerbell?” Raven asked, rubbing her fingers together to get the glitter off.  Her eyes widened as they snapped up to Clarke’s with a dramatic gasp.  “ _Did_ you fuck Tinkerbell?”

“No!” Clarke hissed, bringing her hands up to cover her burning face.  “He just slept in here.  Nothing can happen, remember?”

“Ah,” Raven said, leaning back against the wall, a knowing grin on her lips.  “You want to fuck Tinkerbell.”

Clarke didn’t bother to argue, just groaned and flopped back on her pillows, glitter flying up around her head.

“Look,” her friend sighed.  “I think you should go for it.  You’re obviously into him, and he’s into you, too.  If he reports it, all that means is you get a new fairy for the next two months.  He goes back and does his paperwork and then he’ll do whatever fairies do when they decide to move here.  I’ve seen how he looks at you, Clarke.  He’s not gonna stay away any longer than he has to.”

Clarke groaned again, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.  “It’s not that easy,” she pointed out, and Raven rolled her eyes.

“Right,” she said.  “Sure.  Of course it’s not.  But it could be.”

Clarke didn’t think so, but she didn’t need to voice it again to know that Raven knew what she thought.  She decided she was going to ignore it until her feelings went away.  She was good at ignoring things.  She could ignore how nice it had felt to be held and kissed by Murphy the night before for the next two months.  It’d be easy.

 

It wasn’t easy.

A week after Clarke had made her vow, she was more than ready to crack.  It didn’t help that Murphy was literally everywhere and contractually couldn’t not be.  He was in her living room.  He was in her kitchen.  He was in her bathroom.  And, right now, he was behind the till while she ran the cappuccino machine.

It was getting rough, and she didn’t think she was going to last much longer.

Raven had been quiet about her opinions since Clarke had vented, but Clarke knew that was only due to the very real fact that if Clarke was to do anything about her feelings, Murphy would be gone.  Harper, however, had no such reservations and had spent every shift they’d had together grilling her on why she hadn’t done anything after the last games night—because she should’ve, damnit.

Clarke started to think that maybe her friends were right.  Maybe she should just do something about it.  She didn’t doubt that Murphy felt the same way, hadn’t for a while, if she was being honest with herself.  Maybe there were loopholes in the whole conflict of interest thing.

She was still debating with herself when they closed up the shop.  They’d walked today—Murphy had warned her against it since the danger levels were calling for rain, but Clarke liked rain and it wasn’t like Murphy couldn’t magic them home and dry if they managed to get soaked—and they decided to detour by the pier on the way home.

Murphy was complaining about the decisions made by some character on some show he was watching—“Really, Clarke.  It made no sense.  Why would he do that?”—and Clarke grinned to herself as she let the sound of his snarking wash over her.

She decided to be brave—or really, really stupid, depending on how you looked at it—and reached out between them to thread her fingers through his.  His rant cut off for a moment, then picked up again as he squeezed her hand.

Clarke felt all the nerves drain out of her, a giddiness bubbling up inside her as she grinned to herself.  Why had she thought this was going to be scary?  She knew she liked him, and she knew he liked her.  Everything would be so easy if it wasn’t for the whole conflict of interest thing.  It could still be easy.

They stopped walking, and Clarke leaned forward against the railing to watch the cloudy sky change colours as the sun set over the ocean.

“Clarke.”

She turned her gaze away, and got lost in another sight.  He was right there, right in front of her, gazing down at her.  The setting sun was reflected in his eyes, and his mouth hung open like he wanted to continue but didn’t know what to say.

A loud clap of thunder saved him from having to say anything, and Clarke laughed as a torrent of rain pounded down on them.  She grabbed Murphy’s other hand, tugging him away from the railing towards the middle of the pier, spinning them around and around.

Murphy was grinning at her as they spun, and Clarke didn’t care that her hair was sticking to her face.  She laughed, spinning faster.

And then her foot slipped in a puddle, sending her crashing into Murphy.

“Was there not a danger warning for that?” she asked, grinning up at him.  She didn’t move away, didn’t mind in the slightest when his arm wrapped around her back to keep her there.  The rain thundered down around them, sheltering them off from the rest of the world.

“There was,” he told her, leaning closer.  There were raindrops stuck on his eyelashes, and Clarke couldn’t look at anything else.  One of his hands came up to cup her cheek and she leaned into the touch.  “But I thought the rewards outweighed the risks.”

“Which are?” she asked, breathless, gazing at him with wide eyes.

He leaned even closer, his nose brushing against her cheek.  Clarke wanted nothing more than to give in, to close what little distance was left between them, but there was one not-so-little issue still buzzing in her mind.

“If we do this,” she whispered, feeling him shiver against her, her protests feeble as her arms rose to twine around his neck, “they’ll send you away.”

He stroked a thumb along her jaw, and Clarke’s breath caught in her throat.  “Only if I report it,” he told her, voice about as wrecked as she felt.  His lips twitched up into a smirk, and suddenly there was nothing else she could look at.  “I could just not report it.”

It was stupid.  It was so, so stupid.  She had no idea what kind of punishment he’d get if he didn’t report it.  She had no idea if there was a way for the FPA to find out about it.  There were so many ways this could go wrong.

But _god_ she wanted this.  And here he was, right in front of her, rain dripping down his face and looking at her like she was his whole world, and he wanted this too.

So she decided to be brave—or stupid, or both—and surged up to meet him.

Kissing Murphy was better than she’d imagined, and oh had she been imagining it.  His arm tightened around her waist and the hand on her cheek pushed into her hair.  He tasted like magic, somehow, and he kissed like there was nothing else he’d rather be doing, nowhere else he’d rather be.

They had to breathe at some point—or, rather, she had to breathe.  She didn’t know if Murphy actually breathed at all—so she pulled back with a breathless laugh, smiling softly at him.  Murphy grinned back, pressing another quick kiss against her lips.

Someone crying out in wonder caught her attention, and she turned away from Murphy to see what the fuss was about.

The rain had stopped.  It hadn’t stopped raining, but, spreading out from Clarke and Murphy, the drops that had been falling had frozen, hanging there in the air.  Glittery fairy dust fanned out from them as well, sparkling in the setting sun, floating around them with an invisible wind.

“Magic,” someone claimed, further down the pier, and Clarke turned back to Murphy with a grin.

He laughed, and then the rain came back down all at once, and he kissed her again.

“I hope you know you’re not getting rid of me in two months,” he told her, and Clarke’s grin widened.

“Good,” she said, pressing their lips together again.  She leaned up so her lips were at his ear.  “Let’s go home.”

 

Clarke sunk down next to Raven on the couch.  “So this is on the DL until after the contract’s terminated,” she said, “but I have an answer to your question.”

Raven narrowed her eyes.  “What question?”

Clarke took a sip of her drink.  “Magic sex is way better than regular sex.”

 

They’d been, in Miller’s words, nausea inducing for about a month when they took a day hike up Mount Weather.  Being with Murphy was the easiest thing in the world, and Clarke curled up against him in the middle row of Bellamy’s minivan as they drove back down from their hike.

Everything was perfect, which meant it had to go wrong.

They hit a bump hard, but Clarke barely would’ve noticed if Murphy hadn’t tensed against her.

“Bellamy,” he said, interrupting Monty.  “Bellamy, check the brakes.”

Clarke sat up, her heart in her chest as she stared at Murphy.  Bellamy was eyeing them in the rear-view mirror, the van speeding up a bit as they drove down the mountain.

“What?”

“Check the fucking brakes,” Murphy snapped, his knife materializing in his hand, and Bellamy kept staring at them.

“Why the fuck do you have a knife?” Miller asked, seated on the other side of Murphy and pushing himself towards the door.

“Check the fucking brakes!” Murphy yelled again.

Clarke could tell the exact moment Bellamy complied, as it was accompanied by a panicked, “Oh, shit.”

“What’s happening?” Harper called from the backseat.  “What’s wrong with the breaks?”

Clarke’s heart was in her throat and the van kept picking up speed.  She looked at Murphy, ready to ask him what was happening.  His mouth was set in a grim line, and he pressed a quick kiss to her lips before vanishing.

“What the fuck?”  Clarke wasn’t sure who’d said it.  It could’ve been anyone or everyone.

Raven turned around from the passenger seat, meeting Clarke’s eyes.  “What is he doing?”

Clarke shook her head, swallowing down the panic that was building inside her.  “His job.”

There were questions, so many questions, about Murphy and the brakes and what the fuck was going on, but Clarke couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, just stared out the front window as they careened down the mountain and around a corner.

“Is that—?” Bellamy cut himself off.

Clarke nodded.  “Murphy.”

He was there, getting closer and closer, standing in the middle of their lane.  His wings were out, big and pink and magnificent, and a cloud of glittering dust surrounded him.  His hands were out, towards the minivan, his knife clutched tightly in one.

And they were heading straight towards him.

“Fuck,” Miller breathed, and Clarke felt him grab onto her hand.  She didn’t know if it was for her comfort or his own, but it didn’t matter.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Bellamy demanded, but he was too close and they were going too fast for him to be able to swerve around him.

In the end, he didn’t have to.

The van stopped just inches from Murphy’s hands, and Clarke let out a shaky breath, pulling her hand from Miller’s grip and undoing her seatbelt.

“You could’ve died,” she snapped, even as she flung her arms around Murphy’s neck and pressed their lips together.  “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m sorry your life is so safe that I’ve barely had to do my job,” he snapped back, because sarcasm didn’t count as a lie, and kissed her again.  The handle of his knife pressed against her back, and she felt his wings brush her arms.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your make out,” Miller said, and Clarke pulled back enough to look at their friends, gathered outside Bellamy’s minivan.  “But what the fuck is going on?”

 

Clarke didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.  Maybe she should’ve said something to her mom, about how she and Murphy were friends, that they were close, that she wanted a little bit of notice before the contract was terminated.

But she didn’t, so one day she woke up and Murphy just wasn’t there.

She cried.  She called Raven and Harper over, and they ate chicken nuggets in his honour while she cried.

It wasn’t over.  He wasn’t gone.  She kept telling herself that, over and over.  It was just a few weeks.  Enough time for him to do the paperwork for her case and do whatever was necessary for him to move out of the fairy realm and then he’d be back.

Just a few weeks.

 

**Five Weeks Later**

Something woke Clarke from her sleep.  It was still dark out, definitely not time to get up, so she elected to ignore it and burrow deeper into her pillows.

“Clarke,” someone whispered, and she decided to ignore that too.

There was a soft chuckle, and then something brushed her hair off the back of her neck before pressing a soft kiss there.  She hummed in appreciation, and the kisses slowly trailed up her neck and across her jaw.

“Clarke,” the someone whispered again, his breath ghosting across her lips.  “Clarke, babe, open your eyes for me please.”

She peeled her eyes open, smiling as she took in Murphy, crouched down next to her bed, pink sparkly wings and all.

“You’re back,” she whispered, sitting up just enough so she could wrap him in her arms.  “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he told her, and then he was kissing her and she was tugging him into bed.

“How long are you here?” she asked, and she couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t stop running her fingers over his face, like he’d disappear again if she so much as blinked.

He grinned at her.  “As long as I want.”

Clarke grinned back.  “I think that should be long enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell I was craving chicken nuggets while I wrote this?
> 
> Also the knife is definitely Murphy's magic wand. I realized after rereading this that I never actually mentioned that but like that's definitely a thing
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed it! Please go vote for me if you want! And also comment! Because I love comments!  
> 


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